100 Years Before the Mast
by uninhibited.spirit
Summary: Trapped in a oceanic prison aboard the Flying Dutchman, the undead Bootstrap Bill Turner, finds himself trying to comfort his disturbed soul. But when Davy Jone decides to be generous, Bootsrap finds himself torn between what is right and what feels right
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my own characters.**

**My first POTC fanfic, I hope you like it, please R&R, I'd love to hear your feedback!**

_Prologue_

His deep blue eyes showed their usually melancholy, as the gazed over the mist enshrouded waters. They seemed still, deathly still. William Turner had only served on the _Flying Dutchman_ for a short time, yet he found himself longing for life, for the Caribbean sunshine on his face, for an escape from his watery prison. His long black hair dripped water onto the decks veiled by aquatic life.

It was such a rare event, to be able to gaze at the sea; the captain always ensured some tedious task for the crew to execute. He felt hopeless, one hundred years of servitude was a long time, and with each day he began more grotesque as new sea life grew from his body.

"What do you think your doing?" snapped a man who resembled a hammer head shark. His beady eyes glared at Bootstrap, his sharp little teeth flashing. "Get back to work!" he turned and returned to the busy deck, where many repugnant creatures served there sentences. Bootstrap took one last gaze at the sea, which he had once loved so much before he too rejoined his fellow crewmates.

>>>

Davy Jones was in his state room, where he played his organ. He always played the same eerie song. A song from his aching past, which held so much emotion that just playing it would tire him to a deep, undisturbed sleep.

To everyone he was an atrocious character, who was feared the most in the entire Spanish Main. He was unforgiving and vicious and just the mentioning of his name invoked fear. He was the sea, he was dangerous, he took but never gave back. He captured dying souls and forced them into enslavement of his damned crew, where they were obligated to spend decades, even centuries, all in the vain promise to suspend the judgment that they would face after death. No one on the _Flying Dutchman_ was alive, but nor were they dead, they were all caught in life between death, just like him.

His story was infamous, a classic story of a treacherous love.

**Well I hope it caught your interest. Please let me know what you think.**


	2. Message in a Bottle

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my own characters.**

**If you have any comments or questions, let me know.**

**Warning: May contain DMC spoilers.**

**As a warning, the b's equal scene changes, I had trouble using my usual indicator's.**

_Chapter 2: Message in a bottle_

The faint voices seeped from the office below, and Naiya knew what her father was doing. It was the same thing he had been doing for the past two years, since she was seventeen. He had spent much of his time attempting to find a suitor for her. Occasionally, she would be forced to spend a considerable amount of time with some charming young man at a party or other social event. But they were all the same, charming, young, wealthy, and they didn't care about her. None of these young men wanted to know her; they just wanted an opulent dowry to fatten their bank accounts, and pretty young wife to hang off their arm at parties while they smoked and drank their brandy.

Unfortunately this time, her father was serious. Her father was determined to marry her off to a wealthy, distinguished, older socialite: Charles Philip Yorke, third Earl of Wilmington. He had come to Port Royal only five years back. Naiya on the other hand had been in the Caribbean her entire life. Her father had been there over thirty years, and as the story went, he had met her mother Lydia Ainsworth there. The truth was that Naiya was an illegitimate love child. Her father had bedded a young Spanish maid; Rosalynn Vargas, but she proved to be to frail for childbirth and had past away mere minutes after giving birth to Naiya. However her father was a respectable man, and had covered up his sordid past, by taking Lydia as his wife shortly after hearing news of Rosalynn's pregnancy. Since both her father and Lydia were dark haired, people overlooked Naiya's long chocolate, brown, wavy locks, her naturally bronzed skin and curvy physique.

As usual, Naiya was displeased to hear news of her father's latest attempt. She despised the idea of an arranged marriage. She grew tired of all the people who surrounded her. They had all been forced into arranged marriages, which were based on a mutual desire for vast amounts of money and popularity. Her own father had tossed the love of his life away in order to maintain a certain reputation in this society. She was trapped in every direction by the results of real estate mergers and grand dowries.

b

"Well Charles, I'd say we have settled our business. Please have another spot of brandy before you leave." Astor replied approaching a small cherry wood table covered with crystal decanters.

"Please Lord Everett, I would adore to stay longer, but I am afraid I must depart. I have much to attend to. But I look forward to seeing Miss Naiya at the ball on Friday evening." He bowed and turned to leave.

Astor turned to his wife, he knew it was time to break the news to his daughter. He only wished she would seem the least bit excited or even interested about her betrothal. "Lydia, send for my daughter.

" Lydia curtsied and left the room. She reached Naiya's room. She found her in the same place she always found her, sitting by her window, it overlooked the sea and one could hear the waves crashing against the cliffs.

"For goodness sake child, come away from the window. I don't know what fascination you find in the sea but I will have none of it. Besides, your father wishes an audience." Naiya sighed and followed Lydia to her father's office. She knew what was going on, it had become routine for her: the beckoning, the same speech, the invitation to some grand ball where she would be forced to join the company of some dull, superficial, arrogant man who she would always have to drive away by some means.

b

"My daughter, please sit. I need a word with you. I know you detest my help in finding a husband, but I believe I have found a man who will suit you, and make you happy. He is a man of charm, wit, good looks, intelligence… He will be a wonderful provider and will make you a happy woman indeed." He held his head high as he tried to win his daughters interest, or at least her attention.

"Who is he?" Naiya asked. It too was routine, she had no desire to know anything about this man, but she had no choice, so each time her father brought her to his study and listed the same traits, she always did him the courtesy of asking the name.

"Charles Philip Yorke, Earl of Wilmington." Astor held his high, he as proud of the match and felt confident that perhaps this time would be different, that maybe Naiya would accept his hand. "He owns a wonderful plantation to the east of the port. You will join him at his ball on Friday evening. He is anxious to meet you my dear."

"Very well thank you father." Naiya said politely as she stood and left.

b

The _Flying Dutchman_ charged through the billowing winds and the blasting rain. The waves tossed back and forth, but this was not a normal ship and it fought its way among the waves, where another ship and its crew might be claimed by this storm.

Will entered Davy Jones' quarters; it was dimly lit and smelt of damp wood and mould. Davy Jones was at his organ, but he wasn't playing, he had expected Bootstrap.

"I've got a task fer ya..." he rose from the bench and paced the room. "Thirteen years ago, I raised the black pearl, fer that spineless, sorry excuse of a man: Jack Sparrow. I made a deal with 'im, that he would be captain fer thirteen years, and then he would join my crew. I want you to send 'im this message…

b

Naiya sat in her dressing gown, she stared at the moon at it peeked above the cliffs, casting its' beautiful, silver rays upon the rippling waters. Her maid Lena bustled about behind her, preparing her bed.

"Oh please Miss, come away from the window, before you catch your death of colds." She was a slender young English girl with a touch of cockney to her voice.

"Lena, do you believe that there is more to life then what's in front of us?" her voice was curious and innocent, but her eyes never left the sea. It calmed her, reassured her.

"I'm not sure, why do you ask?" she replied, now suddenly quite curious herself.

"I've never felt like I belong here. I don't belong here. Sometimes I think it's because I belong there." She smiled just saying it, the idea that she could be out at sea and far away from the confines of this place inspired her.

"Oh really? What would you do out there, at Sea? Wear buck skins and marry some pirate." She laughed, the hole idea seemed preposterous to Lena. Lena adored Port Royal; the fancy Gala's and parties even if she wasn't to attend them. Naiya smiled.

"A pirate's life for me…"

**Well I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please read and review, I'd love to hear feedback!**

**And a special thanks to saxongirl345, who gave this story it's first review.**


	3. Foul Breath

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my own characters.**

**If you have any comments or questions, let me know.**

**Warning: May contain DMC spoilers.**

_Chapter 3: Foul Breath _

"He's a marked man, that Jack Sparrow." He sneered as the tentacles surrounding his face, writhed distractingly. He loved knowing another soul would soon board the _Flying Dutchman_, but he never asked for anything, without being willing, or obligated, to give something in return. "Of course, I'd never ask ya to do this without giving ya proper compensation." He grinned; he knew Bootstrap would be tempted by his offer. Will was confused, and shocked, and his brow furrowed.

"What might that be?" Part of him hoped perhaps his sentenced would be lessened. It seemed as though that was the only currency on this ship.

"Well that be your choice. What would interest you?"

b 

Naiya felt restless that night. She was troubled, and she wasn't quite sure as to why. She refused to except that it was the fact her father had betrothed her to yet another man. It had never bothered her before; every time it happened she knew she would be able to undo her father's work. This time felt different though, something didn't feel right, and she almost felt as though this time she would have to go through with the engagement, even the wedding.

She lay there, in the dark, thinking about what she had said to Lena earlier. Maybe it wasn't just a fantasy, or dream she had talked about. Maybe that was what she really wanted, to be a pirate. The idea didn't frighten her, or even shock her. The idea of that kind of freedom, on the sea, seeing new exciting places, appealed to her, just as it had her mother.

b 

"I want ten years of service."

b 

Naiya had always felt comfortable in breeches. The pair she wore now were soft and brown, and she adored wearing them, not only because they allowed her an escape from the demands of a British society, but they were so much more comfortable then what she was forced to wear. The loose white linen shirt, the leather boots and bag, it wasn't how a lady dressed. Naiya slipped out of her room and quietly down the hall. She'd had to be quiet, so quiet. If any of the help saw her, she'd be finished. Not only would she still be trapped, her father would be furious. She peered around each corner and glided down the hallways. Never producing a sound, never stopping, she had no doubts about what she was doing.

The only other time she had run away was when she was twelve. She hadn't gotten far before she grew tired, hungry and scared and had returned. This time was different, her freedom and her happiness depended on her getting away. Naiya made her way down to the docks, she knew she'd have to reach a ship belonging to a fisherman or some sort of local merchant. None of the ships of her majesties navy would sail anywhere near a pirate port. Naiya only knew she needed to reach Tortuga; there she'd be safe from discovery. She found a small fishing dory and hid in the lower compartments behind barrels of raw fish and old fishing nets. She was thrilled, excited. She had finally left. Yet still sleep found her and she drifted into a deep sleep, and she dreamt about pirates, buried treasure, a great love and the sea.

Many hours later she awoke to yelling, screaming. The ship was under attack, and she knew she'd have to reach the deck. Up above men ran about frantically, in terror. A situation so serious no one even noticed the woman aboard the ship.

b 

Bootstrap sat in bottom of the _Black Pearl_. Davy Jones had refused his suggestion. His heart sank, he had hoped that he might be able to lessen his sentence, but it still stood. Then there he was…Captain Jack Sparrow.

"Time's run out Jack."

b 

Naiya clung desperately to a panel of wood that had floated nearby. There she was, in the middle of the sea, alone, in the dark and traumatized. She couldn't even recall exactly what had happened. Men would disappear, the ship was destroyed, and then…a stench so foul, it almost numbed the senses.

She was terrified, she was all alone and she had nothing to do but float there. Then from the depths, they found her…


End file.
